Obsidian Whipsers

45. She/Her My side blog, A glimpse into the darkness that is my life.

[obsidianwhipsers]

Welcome to the mess.

My name is Ember. This is where I lay it all out- the raw, unfiltered chaos of being mentally and chronically ill. I’m not here to inspire anyone or tie my pain into a pretty bow. This isn’t a story of triumph; it’s a story of survival, one shaky breath at a time.

You’ll find pieces of me scattered across these posts: the days I can barely get out of bed, the nights I lose to racing thoughts, and the endless battle to just exist in a body that feels like my enemy. This is a space for the broken, the bitter, the struggling. For the ones who keep going even when it feels pointless.

If you’re looking for light, you won’t find it here. But if you’re drowning in the same darkness, maybe you’ll see yourself in my words- and maybe, just maybe, we’ll feel a little less alone.

Welcome to the edge. Let’s fall together.

Professionally diagnosed with:

Bipolar 2

BPD

CPTSD

Severe GAD

Severe Panic disorder

OCD (magical thinking and contamination aspects)

Professionally diagnosed with:

Fibromyalgia

Sjogrens

Scleroderma (SCL-70)

RA

CFS/ME

Migraines and Ocular migraine sufferer

Peripheral neuropathy

Dysautonomia (POTS and IST)

E. Coli colonization of my bladder

Asthma

Dysphagia

[obsidianwhipsers]

The Dark Corners of My Mind Are Where I Go to Die in Silence

There are places in my mind where even the light can’t survive. They’re too suffocating, too thick with my own self-loathing to let anything

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A Life Sentence In My Own Mind

Mental illness isn’t a battle. Battles end. Wars have winners. This? This is a life sentence. No parole. No early release for good behavior.

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I Am Not Real

I do not exist. Not really. I move through the world, but I am not here. I speak, but my voice feels like an echo of someone who was never a

[obsidianwhipsers]

The things That Rot Inside Me

There are things inside me that decay, slowly, persistently, like a house abandoned to time. No matter how much I try to air out the rooms,

[obsidianwhipsers]

It begins again.

My thoughts turn sharp, slicing through reason like paper cuts that never stop stinging. My emotions don’t settle; they riot. I try to hold myself together, but my skin feels foreign, my body a cage for something too wild to contain.

I want to scream. I want to disappear. I want someone to notice without me having to say a word.

But I won’t say a word.

I’ll just smile like I’m not breaking, like my mind isn’t eating itself alive. And no one will know the difference- until there’s nothing left of me to know. Maybe, even then, no one will notice.

[obsidianwhipsers]

Dear Neurotypicals: I’m Not Okay, But Please Stop Asking

Look, I get it. You mean well. You’re coming from a place of kindness, concern, or maybe even mild curiosity. You see me, this chaotic whirl

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Depression is watching life pass through a window you can’t open, screaming silently as the world moves on without you

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30 Years of Trying

After 30 years of therapy, I think I’ve finally hit the wall. I’ve tried everything- CBT, DBT, EMDR, every acronym they could throw at me. I’ve cried, screamed, journaled, meditated, done the breathing exercises, the worksheets, the self-compassion mantras. None of it stuck. None of it saved me.

It’s not that I didn’t want to be fixed- I wanted it more than anything. But at some point, you have to stop throwing yourself at the same brick wall, hoping it’ll turn into a door. Therapy didn’t fail me, and I didn’t fail therapy. It just wasn’t enough to untangle this mess I’ve become.

So I’m done. No more talking circles around my pain, no more searching for answers that don’t exist. Let the therapists set their bars low for someone else- I’ve finally accepted I was never meant to clear them anyway.

[obsidianwhipsers]

The Language Of My Mind

It speaks in static- a low hum of anxiety that never quite fades. Words blur and overlap, like conversations in a crowded room where I can’t

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🎄 Newsflash: Not everyone is jingling all the way. For those of us living with mental illness, chronic illness, or both, the holidays can feel like an endurance test wrapped in tinsel and topped with guilt.

✨ If you’re struggling this season:

It’s okay if “merry and bright” isn’t in your vocabulary right now.

Canceling plans doesn’t make you a bad person- it makes you a human protecting your peace.

You’re allowed to prioritize survival over celebration.

💡 To everyone else:

Stop assuming the holidays are magical for everyone. They’re not.

Offer support, not judgment, when someone says they’re overwhelmed.

Don’t guilt people into participating- sometimes the best gift we can give is space to breathe.

🎁 The real holiday spirit? Empathy. Share it freely, especially with those quietly carrying more than their fair share.

Take care of yourselves, and remember: surviving is enough. ❤️

[obsidianwhipsers]

I can feel it- the slow unraveling. It’s not just the clawing panic or the relentless noise in my head; those are old, familiar shadows. It’s the way my anxiety sharpens, slicing into moments that used to feel safe. The way sleep has become a luxury I can no longer afford- three hours a night, if I’m lucky, staring at the ceiling like it might offer answers I’m too afraid to ask.

Every sound feels too loud. Every thought feels too big. My chest stays tight, my mind restless, waiting for a crash I know is coming but can’t stop.

It’s terrifying to watch your mind slip further from your grasp. Worse, it’s exhausting. Yet here I am- three hours of sleep, countless hours of spiraling, bracing myself for another day I don’t feel ready to face.

But I’ll face it anyway. Not out of strength, but out of stubborn defiance. Because I know the darkness too well to let it win without a fight.

[obsidianwhipsers]

Every time I try to take care of myself, it feels like I’m stealing kindness meant for someone else. Water tastes like guilt. Rest feels like a betrayal. I don’t know when I decided I didn’t deserve care, but it’s a belief that’s wrapped itself so tightly around me, I don’t know how to live without it.

They say self-care is healing, but for me, it’s just a mirror showing all the ways I’ve failed. Maybe that’s why I avoid it. Maybe I don’t think I’m worth saving.

[obsidianwhipsers]

Todays Struggle: The Men I Let Destroy Me

Today is one of those days when the ghosts of my choices come to haunt me. I didn’t pick them- they picked me. And I let them, time and time

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Each night, I lie in the arms of anxiety, where fear whispers lullabies of everything that could go wrong, and sleep feels less like rest and more like surrendering to a darkness I might not wake from

[fckinworthlesskat]

i am here but I am nowhere

[obsidianwhipsers]

I feel this

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There’s a certain kind of shame that eats away at you when someone you love has to care for you. It’s not just the guilt of needing help- it’s the weight of feeling like you’ve stolen pieces of their life.

Every small thing they do for you feels like another nail in the coffin of your independence, and you hate yourself for it. For needing them. For burdening them. For taking up space in their world when you wish you could just stand on your own.

You smile and thank them, but inside, you’re screaming apologies they’ll never hear. And no matter how many times they say, “It’s okay,” you can’t shake the feeling that maybe it isn’t. That maybe you’re the problem they’ll never say out loud.